


I Could Hold You In My Arms, I Could Hold You Forever.

by moritz



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:19:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moritz/pseuds/moritz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you guys all got the feels. I know I did while writing it. Fun fact! I was finishing up the last bit whilst listening to our fanmix and, as I'm writing the final paragraphs, George's cover of "Hallelujah" comes on. It was a moment. Anyway! Hope you all liked, please give kudos and leave comments if you enjoyed. Love you all and thanks so much for the massive support.</p><p> </p><p>moritz xx</p></blockquote>





	I Could Hold You In My Arms, I Could Hold You Forever.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Worlds Away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/989353) by [angelaofthelord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelaofthelord/pseuds/angelaofthelord), [moritz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moritz/pseuds/moritz). 



**Friday**

Enjolras doesn't think a two hour flight can feel so long. He's sitting in his seat at the back of the plane - in Economy class, thank you very much, because he refuses to sit in first class amongst all of those corporate assholes who think they're more privileged because they can afford a more expensive seat (even though he can, as well) - and is about ready to explode. 

He's regretting it now, though, as he stares up the aisle of the plane over the seemingly expanding rows. They stretch before his eyes, a hundred feet becoming a thousand, and it takes all he has not to sprint for the door. Well, all he has and the fasten seatbelt sign.

He always has been a stickler for certain rules.

They're reaching the gate, and his fingertips are already poised at the seatbelt, ready to unclasp it. The moment the light flickers off, Enjolras is out of his chair, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He does his best to get as close to the front as quickly as he can, but ends up getting trapped behind an old woman four rows back. 

His jaw clenches and his foot taps, but he says nothing. It takes a few more moments than he would have preferred, but Enjolras still gets off the plane in a timely fashion and then he's practically running toward baggage claim, which is saying something considering Enjolras always walks with purpose and speed.

When he arrives at the baggage claim area, his eyes scan the room for Grantaire. The look is almost one of desperation, an emotion practically unfamiliar to the man, but it's there now. Still, he searches the room for the familiar face, and sees nothing... but Grantaire sees him.

Enjolras has probably never looked so good.

Fuck what he had said about the haircut- fuck it, because Grantaire fucking loves it. It suits Enjolras so well, it just makes sense; he should have always looked that way. In fact, his entire look just makes sense- the white button down with the sleeves rolled just past his elbows, the black slacks, the red coat draped over his arm...

It was so... London. There were still traces of Paris on him, of course, but it was clear the foreign city had a lot of influence over Enjolras. He didn't look like a boy anymore, he looked like the businessman he was. There was an air of professionalism about him- he had one before, but this was much more... refined.

He wants to run to the man, grab his face, and kiss him once for every second they've been apart, but he knows better. Grantaire knows that Enjolras would likely freak out- not because he cares that people know he's gay, definitely not that (as R is so often reminded), but because, well, it just wasn't appropriate.

Frankly, Grantaire hated being appropriate. He rarely ever was. That may have only gotten worse without Enjolras there to monitor him, so he was going to make sure he was on his best behaviour that weekend... at least, when they weren't behind closed doors. Then, he intended to be as bad as possible.

Grantaire is holding up a sign when Enjolras sees him. It isn't ridiculously painted, like he said he was intending on doing, instead being substituted for R's scrawl of a quick "Marcelin Enjolras" with a heart over the "i" in his first name. An unmistakable grin paints Enjolras' face as their eyes meet, and he nearly runs to reach him.

Their arms wrap around each other, and it's like he never left.

Neither of them want to let go; they're too busy taking in the other's scent, feeling their bodies meld for the first time in months. Enjolras is practically trembling, his face buried in the crook of Grantaire's neck, fingertips tangling into his freshly cut hair ("Thank God," his conscience briefly interjects, and another smile threatens his features).

Grantaire can feel the warmth of Enjolras' breath snaking down his collarbone and he grips the fabric of the other man's shirt, doing his best not to start crying right there in the middle of the airport because, dammit, he promised himself he wasn't going to do it but he can't stop as a few tears slip down his cheeks, anyway.

When they pull away, Grantaire is biting his lip in an effort not to cry anymore and Enjolras is grinning. Neither reaction is surprising, really, but the fact that neither of them has said a word yet is. Even Enjolras, the man of many words, is having trouble finding anything to say anything at all, so he settles for something simple.

"Hi."

He smiles again. Grantaire laughs.

"Hi."

\--

"Everyone's really excited to see you," Grantaire says as they walk toward the entrance to the Musain. He looks over at Enjolras, taking his hand quickly enough to give it a quick squeeze before letting it go again. Enjolras seems so focused, almost as if he's nervous to see his friends again.

When they enter the Musain, however, all of that changes.

Everyone turns as they hear the door open, and Enjolras' jaw drops. They're standing there, stupid decorations hung from the ceiling (how they got Musichetta to agree to that one, he'll never know), and a "Welcome Home" banner on the wall. The entire place is empty except for the lot of them, and he wonders if they did that on purpose. If they did, they shouldn't have.

They all shout, "ey's," "whey hey's," and whoops echoing throughout the nearly empty restaurant. Enjolras turns to Grantaire, an accusing look in his eyes. Grantaire shrugs, his eyebrows raised- he didn't know they were renting the whole place out. Apparently, the party was news to them both. Combeferre steps forward.

"We know you're only home for a couple of days, but... we missed you."

A knowing grin graces the guide's face as he moves closer to his best friend and hugs him. It's a different kind of hug than the one Enjolras and Grantaire shared earlier, but it means just as much. Aside from Grantaire, Combeferre is the only one that keeps Enjolras vaguely normal, and he knows it. They both do.

Enjolras is surrounded by his friends, then, all laughter and claps on the back and asking him how he was, what London was like, when he was coming back next. He congratulated Courfeyrac and Jehan and moving in together, Marius and Cosette on the engagement, Gavroche on the play, and Eponine on her job.

It was amazing how much he had missed in three months. 

So much had changed in the short span of time he was gone, and he was never going to get all of those missed moments back. Combeferre and Grantaire could keep him updated all they wanted, but it wasn't the same as actually being there. Nothing could replace that.

After a while, they all settle down. Enjolras sat next to Grantaire, his arm carefully draped over the back of the man's chair and a forced beer resting in his free hand. Combeferre was at his other side, and the two speak rapidly, pausing every so often to take a dutiful sip of their respective drinks.

The two of them were in the middle of a heated discussion of current French politics when Courfeyrac sands up and clinks a fork on the side of his beer bottle. Everyone turns to him, and something in Enjolras' gut tells him he shouldn't be looking forward to whatever was about to come out of the man's mouth.

"Ladies and gents," Courfeyrac begins, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Tonight, we welcome back Enjolras from London, where he's working some super important job and does super important things. It's good that he's back because we get to see him, but mostly because it means Grantaire will stop bitching and can get laid tonight. Thank you."

With that, he sits down. Bahorel and a few others cheer, Grantaire laughs and Enjolras, as usual, looks completely mortified. Combeferre shoots Courfeyrac a look, but he's still smiling under his faux-concern. Enjolras sets his beer on the table and rests his face in his hands, feeling the burn of his cheeks on his skin.

As embarrassed as he is, it's good to be home.

\--

They're back at the flat, and Enjolras' hands are a bit shaky as he slips the key in the door and unlocks it. He's prepared for the worst- paint everywhere, dishes left out, all of it. His eyes widen, however, when he realises the place is... totally spotless- maybe even cleaner than he had left it.

"You cleaned up?" he says incredulously as he turns back toward the door as Grantaire saunters through. The other man smiles in response and shuts the door behind himself, locking it before joining Enjolras in the middle of their living room. "It looks great," Enjolras tacks on, smiling at the man again.

"Thought you'd like it," Grantaire replies, but his eyes are intent on Enjolras and it's clear he isn't really paying much attention to how clean the house is (even if he had spent three afternoons straight making sure it was absolutely perfect). He watches Enjolras, unblinking and silent.

Enjolras, oblivious as always, speaks again: "I do." It's barely a statement, though, cut off when he turns and sees the way Grantaire is looking at him. He finally notices- they're all alone for the first time since the drive from the airport. It's just them, just the two of them. Finally.

He pulls Grantaire to him without a second thought, their lips crashing together. It's desperate; it's two months of want and need accumulating into one moment. Enjolras is already breathless when they pull apart, his chest heaving as Grantaire quickly pulls his own shirt over his head.

Grantaire's fingertips are working at Enjolras' buttons then- those damn buttons (the shirt was hot on Enjolras, but fucking inconvenient at the moment)- and he didn't doubt that he'd popped a few off in his hasty undoing of them. Hopefully Enjolras wouldn't notice. He would.

Their lips met again roughly, tongues swiping over each other as Grantaire grips Enjolras' hips and pulls him close enough to press their pelvises together. An involuntary whine pushes past Enjolras' lips and Grantaire smirks; they've both needed it.

"Seems like you're not the only one excited to be home," Grantaire remarks, the grin still present as one of his hands moves to Enjolras' already half-hard dick, stroking it over the fabric of his slacks. Another groan escapes Enjolras' lips against his will, his cock twitching at the feeling of Grantaire's touch.

The artist's hands move to work at the button of Enjolras' trousers, undoing them with practised ease. He gripped all of the fabric that rested on the man's hips and shoved it downward to his thighs, exposing a now shivering Enjolras. Grantaire removes his lips from Enjolras' and begins slowly kissing down his body.

"I really do want that superhero photoshoot," he purrs, tongue trailing over the lines of Enjolras' hip. Enjolras harrumphs in response, clearly more interested in the reward rather than the reasoning for once. Grantaire wants to play a bit more, though, and lets his lips remain on Enjolras' thigh for a moment longer.

His hand begins to work at Enjolras first, pumping him slowly, teasingly, as his lips continue to travel along his inner thigh. Enjolras is nearly begging for him already, hips shifting forward every so often as a clear signal that he's ready. He's waited long enough, after all.

Grantaire wants it, too, and it doesn't take long before he presses his lips to Enjolras' shaft, trailing the kisses from base to tip. His tongue flicks over the slit and Enjolras moans, louder than Grantaire remembers. He's pleading for more already, thrusting forward every so often in an effort for Grantaire to take him deeper.

He obliges, taking Enjolras' length into his mouth as his hands grip the man's hips. Enjolras tangles his fingers in Grantaire's hair, pulling at it. His hips are thrusting forward with more force as Grantaire bobs and takes in all of him, thumbs digging in to Enjolras' skin.

It's over after a moment, though, when Enjolras mutters, "I don't want to come yet." Grantaire smiles as he removes his lips from around Enjolras' cock, his own dick writhing knowing he's already got Enjolras so close. Apparently, absence does make the heart grow fonder-- among other things.

Enjolras pulls Grantaire back up to him hungrily, bringing the man into another rough kiss. It's spit and teeth, and he can taste himself on Grantaires mouth (which, he has to admit, is pretty hot). They stumble toward their bedroom, hands everywhere, lips never parting.

The lube is already out on the nightstand- the one thing that was out of place. Enjolras only notices because it's then that he knows Grantaire was planning ahead. While Enjolras knew it was bound to happen, Grantaire knew it was going to happen right away, and he just wanted to make things more convenient.

They stand in front of the bed, kicking their shoes off quickly. Enjolras had stepped out of his pants back in the living room, but Grantaire still has his on and he finds that deeply unfair, so he quickly undoes his boyfriend's jeans and pulls them down just enough for them to fall to the floor.

Enjolras' knees hit the back of the bed and he falls onto it, Grantaire on top of him within seconds. They scoot their way up the bed, bare bodies tangled atop the sheets. Grantaire doesn't hesitate, his lips remaining on his as his free hand fumbles on the nightstand for the lube.

He finds it and quickly opens it so he can coat his fingers. Enjolras groans- this part is always the hardest to get through because he's so close to having Grantaire inside of him- wiggling his hips enough to allow Grantaire access to his entrance. His boyfriend shows no mercy, slipping a first finger in straight to the knuckle.

The chief lets out a small yelp, the sound quick in Grantaire's ear. He smirks, only moving the finger a few times before sticking another one in. His lips are fierce on Enjolras', whose hips are already buckling wildly. Enjolras hisses as a third finger is slipped in; he's stretched enough now, he wants Grantaire.

"Just get in me," he growls, and Grantaire's eyes widen a bit. This is coming from the man who thought sexting was an urban legend, yet... He doesn't question it as he removes his hand and takes his place between Enjolras' thighs. Enjolras wraps his legs around Grantaire's waist and presses their chests together.

Grantaire kisses him as he pushes his cock in. Enjolras moans, open mouth against Grantaire's, halfway kissing him. His fingertips dig into his boyfriend's back, a heaving breath eliciting itself as Grantaire begins to thrust. It starts slow, but doesn't take long to quicken, their desperation taking over.

"Enjolras," Grantaire whispers, and it's a mixure of the missing and longing from the past two months, and the fact that he still can't believe these kinds of things happen with him, despite the fact they've been together for years, because sometimes Grantaire thinks Enjolras being his is still just a dream.

The man can't be bothered to respond, too engulfed by Grantaire to even be able to speak. He instead kisses his boyfriend again knowingly, one of his hands moving to cup Grantaire's cheek. Even in such a heated moment, it amazes, Grantaire how Enjolras can make things so intimate.

He can feel Enjolras' cock twitching against his chest and grips it firmly, pumping it as he feels precome drip over his fingers. Enjolras groans, his breathing once again laboured against Grantaire's lips. "Can you come for me?" Grantaire asks because he knows Enjolras is already close, and can feel himself nearing climax soon.

Enjolras nods obediently - the best part about having Enjolras in bed was that, for once, he would take orders - and bites down on Grantaire's lip. Grantaire begins to pump faster, gripping Enjolras' dick harder, pushing him closer and closer to his climax.

When Enjolras' body tenses up, Grantaire knows he's got him. Enjolras' eyes force themselves shut, and he pushes himself against Grantaire, moaning loudly as his cock hits his prostate harder and harder. His whole body is trembling as his release spurts out of him and onto his abdomen, the warmth trickling down his frame.

Grantaire comes soon after, Enjolras' contractions forcing him to come. A low, guttural sound passes his lips and he begins to thrust unevenly, riding out his orgasm into his still heaving boyfriend, who presses their foreheads together and looks directly in his eyes as Grantaire comes inside of him.

As they both come down from their highs, Grantaire collapses on top of his boyfriend and pulls himself out as he buries his face into Enjolras' neck. Enjolras runs his hands through Grantaire's hair a few times before pressing a tentative kiss to his forehead and whispering, "I love you" into his skin. 

They part just long enough for Grantaire to roll off of Enjolras and for both of them to get under the covers. Enjolras moves to cuddle into the crook of Grantaire's arm, and Grantaire sighs softly, resting his cheek against the top of Enjolras' head. They fall asleep that way, wrapped up in each other.

This was how it should always have been; this is how it should always be.

\--

**Saturday**

He wakes up to the smell of something cooking in the kitchen.

Enjolras groans and moves to lay his arm over Grantaire- who, surprisingly, isn't there. A still half-sleeping Enjolras realises the lack of his boyfriend next to him is where the scent is coming from: Grantaire is cooking. He lays in bed for another moment before groggily rolling out of bed.

His un-styled hair is sticking up in different places, sweatpants hung low on his hips as he slowly makes his way out of their bedroom and toward the kitchen. Enjolras remembers when this was just his place. After he and Grantaire got together, however, R just never left... and he was surprisingly okay with that.

It was sad to think that this flat was more Grantaire's than his now; it didn't matter whose name was on the lease or the fact that he had lived there for nearly six years, really, because Enjolras had left Grantaire alone in their home before they could really make it much of a home together at all.

Before Grantaire, the apartment was simply a spot for Enjolras to sleep on the occasion he actually slept. When Grantaire moved in, it became a home. He brought a certain touch to Enjolras' apartment that it went from just being a shelter to being a place where their love had bloomed.

"Morning, sleepy head," Grantaire comments, though his back is turned to Enjolras. The blond narrows his eyes slightly- he didn't think he'd been loud enough to hear. Then again, the one time Enjolras was ever oblivious was when he was just waking up. He didn't know how Grantaire dealt with it- he was like a child.

Enjolras nods, even though Grantaire can't see it. "Smells good," he comments, sleepily leaning against the entrance to the kitchen. Grantaire looks over at him and smiles, quickly taking in the sight before him. It still astounded him that all of that belonged to him.

"Coffee's on the counter," he smirks, turning back to the stove.

"You are a god."

Grantaire rolls his eyes, "I think you've mistaken me for yourself, Apollo." He can feel Enjolras' sleepy gaze shooting daggers in his back. He smiles again anyway. Grantaire knows just how much Enjolras hates the nickname, which, like most things Enjolras hates, he continues to say anyway.

Enjolras leans against the counter, mindfully sipping at his coffee and watching Grantaire cook. It's moments like these when he realises how lucky he is, how much he loves Grantaire, and how amazing it is that it took him so long to recognize that he had loved him in the first place.

They remain silent, Enjolras watching as Grantaire prepares their breakfast. He turns around a moment later and extends one of the plates to Enjolras, who, in exchange for the plate, presses a quick kiss to his lips. It's meant as a thank you, of course, but, frankly, Enjolras just really wanted to kiss him.

"Omelette, croissant, honeysuckle salad," Grantaire announces proudly as they sit across from each other at the table. Enjolras nods, smiling affectionately before stabbing into his omelette with the same brute force he does nearly everything. A laugh passes Grantaire's lips before he begins to eat, as well.

Enjolras reckons it's the best omelette he's ever had.

\--

Apparently, it's never been more obvious that they've had sex the night before than when they walk into the Musain to meet the lads for lunch. Courfeyrac is cheering right away, and Enjolras can feel his cheeks burning up as a rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. Grantaire just laughs.

They sit in their usual spot, and Combeferre casually mentions that no one has taken Enjolras' seat since he left- no one wanted to. It was his place, after all, at the head of the table and it would be no matter where he was. It shouldn't mean as much to Enjolras as it does, but he can't help it. He's been sentimental lately.

Marius makes sure to bother Enjolras about the wedding at least fourteen times- he doesn't call it bother, but that's beside the point in Enjolras' eyes, as that's what it is. Enjolras does his best to find it endearing, but completely understands what Grantaire is talking about when he says it get's annoying. It does. 

They spend most of their day there, the lot of them. Everyone's curious about London and want him to go into more depth than he did the previous night (he'd skived over the details, eager to get home). Mostly, though, they're just glad to all be together again.

All of the Amis remain at the Musain until the late hours of the night. Honestly, it was all Enjolras truly needed. He knew what Paris was like, he didn't need to go explore. Just being with his best friends was more than enough for him, and he knew they were entirely aware of that.

Thousands of miles couldn't change it, anyway.

\--

By the time Enjolras and Grantaire get home, they're both exhausted. They end up on the couch, cuddled into each other while watching V for Vendetta. Grantaire likes it for its artistic qualities; Enjolras loves it for its message. They've probably watched it together close to a hundred times, but it doesn't matter.

It isn't a particularly romantic film- not in the conventional sense of romantic, anyway. Enjolras finds it romantic, though; Grantaire is always too entranced by the way Enjolras recites all the lines under his breath and stares at the screen with such intensity you'd think he was in the movie to really care.

Enjolras falls asleep first, his head tucked under Grantaire's neck. Their bodies are tangled on the couch (there isn't enough space for two), but Grantaire is totally comfortable. He finishes the film before shutting the TV off and watches Enjolras sleep for a bit until he too eventually falls back asleep.

\--

**Sunday**

Grantaire watches as Enjolras packs his bag. He stands in the corner, arms folded across his chest, and he can already feel the tears that are threatening to fall. It was hard enough the first time, but to watch him leave again? It didn't matter that they'd see each other again in less than a month. Enjolras was still leaving again now.

They drive to the airport in silence.

It's painful and awkward, and Grantaire's hands grip into the steering wheel as if he's about to rip it right off the car. Enjolras' jaw remains tense and his gaze doesn't move from the windshield for the entire car ride. To look at Grantaire now would just hurt too much.

When they arrive at the airport, Grantaire's hands are shaking. He can only glance at Enjolras, but he can tell that he's trying to hold everything in. To the common eye, they wouldn't think anything of Enjolras' nearly vacant expression. Grantaire knows him, though, and knows he's about to burst.

They arrive at the gate and still haven't spoken. It's too hard, it's too much. Enjolras wants to speak, wants to tell Grantaire just how much he loves him, but no sound with pass his lips. It kills him that he can't speak and, when his flight number is called for boarding, he stands.

Grantaire stands, too, and they face each other but don't touch. Their eyes meet, but it isn't enough. Enjolras blinks slowly; when his eyes reopen he can see that Grantaire's eyes are watering. Grantaire frowns, yet nods once. He understands that's all they can manage here.

He's barely got time to process what happens until it does. Enjolras' lips are on his, desperately pressing for a brief moment before they're gone. The tears fall and Enjolras turns away and approaches a shocked looking flight attendant, who scans his ticket without a word.

It's taking all of Enjolras' resolve not to break down right there, but he knows better. While it may have taken years of practice, he knows how to hold in his emotions. Before he goes through the gate, though, he turns back toward Grantaire and mouths "I love you."

Grantaire smiles and nods- he knows- and Enjolras disappears.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys all got the feels. I know I did while writing it. Fun fact! I was finishing up the last bit whilst listening to our fanmix and, as I'm writing the final paragraphs, George's cover of "Hallelujah" comes on. It was a moment. Anyway! Hope you all liked, please give kudos and leave comments if you enjoyed. Love you all and thanks so much for the massive support.
> 
>  
> 
> moritz xx


End file.
